Observations of a Wife
by shedoc
Summary: How did his Wife affect their partnership? A look at the thoughts of one man over the course of a marriage. Holmes POV
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**The Marriage**

Of course she said yes. What woman wouldn't? Anyone with a modicum of sense could see that he was a good man, one that could very well be the template for the Ideal Man. His virtues were many, his vices few, and his patience endless.

It had to be, to tolerate me and my habits.

The practice in Paddington had been non-existent when he'd bought it – his sweat and blood had worked the business into one that was very profitable, and he'd done so despite his periodic absences to assist me in the pretty problems that crossed my path.

Of course, that didn't mean that he could afford to buy her a house, which he clearly wanted to. Her employer solved that conundrum by offering them rent of a house that she had inherited, at a much lower rate than it was worth. It gave my Watson some pain to swallow his pride and accept the offer, but in the end he had no other choice. The practice in Paddington was only a set of rooms, unattached to a house and therefore unsuitable for the accommodation of a Wife. He had never needed to consider accommodation before – he'd always resided at my side.

Despite my initial reaction, one which did me no justice and caused him some pain, I of course attended the wedding, standing as his best man. He had given me a look of such relief when I capitulated, and I flatter myself that it was my presence that steadied his nerves as we waited for Miss Morstan at the registry office.

We went from the registry office to Simpsons and from there to the train station. She boarded the train as he joked that he couldn't possibly join her until the train was moving, and we shook hands on the platform. The glint of his wedding band stood out upon his left hand, an adornment that I didn't think I'd ever become accustomed to seeing on him.

"You'll come for dinner when we get back," he informed me, "And I'll still come with you on your cases…"

"Provided Mrs Watson can spare you," I couldn't help but saying, knowing that with the acquisition of a Wife his time would be severely curtailed.

The train whistle sounded and the porters began to slam doors.

"John! Surely you weren't serious!" Mrs Watson's laughing voice called and he gave me that cheeky grin that I had become so accustomed to over the course of our singular friendship. He clapped me on the shoulder once more and entered the compartment, slamming the door behind himself.

I didn't wait to see the train depart.

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**The first dinner – 'The Limes'**

Two days after their return from the honeymoon, I received the promised dinner invitation. I had already perceived that this was to be the first in a series of steps that would finally part Watson from me, as his Wife sought to tie him more firmly to her side. There would be the carefully arranged series of Social Events that would allow her to establish her dominance over our partnership, followed by a carefully arranged timetable whereby, for one reason or another, she would prevent us from meeting. Our friendship would fall by the wayside, and I would once more be alone in my work.

That is not to say that I needed a companion, for I didn't. I had been working with the Yard and for various clients for some time before I met Watson, and would continue to do so without him. However, it had not passed my notice that the work was easier with him than without him, and on the few occasions that he had been unable to accompany me, the end result to the case was less simple than I would have hoped.

The house that Mrs Forrester was attempting to give them, and even Watson had been well aware that the low rent was only a formality, was named 'The Limes'. It was located only a few streets away from Baker Street and at first glance it was obvious that the house had suffered some neglect from its previous tenants. I had chosen to walk from Baker Street, the stiff formal collar and waistcoat an uncomfortable reminder of the battle that was about to begin for the time and attention of one John H Watson, MD. My dear friend opened the door to my knock, his face wreathed in welcoming smiles, and he took my hat and coat eagerly.

"You walked, I see," he had learned over the past seven years, though to my dismay he rarely applied the skills I had taught him unless he was dealing with a patient. In that case, his talent for detection and inference were second to none. There was no other doctor I would suffer near me.

"Yes," I drawled, amused as always at his attempts. His Wife was waiting in the front room for me, a tastefully arranged place, if a little spare in its decoration, which was to be expected in a newlywed's home. I steeled myself once more for the formal conversation that was to follow. I detested going about in Society, something that Watson was well aware of; in fact on the few occasions I couldn't get out of the obligation I had dragged him along to act as something of a shield between myself and the mindless banality of whatever function we were attending.

Dinner was not long in being announced, and once we were seated at the table, Watson's Wife asked me eagerly if there had been any cases in their absence.

'So that is your game,' I thought, impressed despite myself. She was going to at least make a good show of attempting to befriend her husband's odd companion before attempting to separate us. I didn't allow any of that to colour my voice as I explained the three minor matters that had come my way in the last fortnight.

To my surprise, dinner was not a burdensome affair. Plain food, well presented, and a conversation that flowed much as it had in the first few weeks of our tenancy at Baker Street marked the occasion of our first battle. Of course, there hadn't been anyone who understood the silences and awkward halts in those early days, but with Watson's presence things went remarkably smoothly. We retired once more to the front room for tea, and had I been asked I would not have been able to say who had won this first, vital encounter.

Watson's Wife got up to pour a second round of tea and handed my cup to me with her normal grace. She put her hand lightly on my shoulder, something that was unheard of in normal Society and smiled.

"Now, Mr Holmes, you have survived the dreaded first visit to the newlyweds home," she said lightly, and Watson choked behind his cup. That reaction alone told me that his Wife was teasing me, something that heretofore only Watson had been permitted.

"The Watson family doesn't dress formally of an evening, and I have no intention of doing so each time my brother-in-law comes for a meal," she squeezed my shoulder lightly, while Watson's breath caught, "Please do me the honour of leaving off the formal accruements next time we dine."

She named me 'brother-in-law'… an unprecedented move, certainly one that I had not anticipated. Watson's face was a study in anxiety and hope and I could not bring myself to crush that tiny spark, no matter what the final outcome of this war was to be.

"Of course, Sister," I replied, bowing my head to concede this particular battle. She patted my shoulder again and then excused herself for the evening. Watson saw his Wife to the bottom of the stairs before he came back to my side, settling on his armchair nervously.

"A remarkable evening," I toasted him with my teacup and his face cleared, his eyes twinkling in good humour.

"I think a glass of port would be better, don't you?" he teased, getting up to fetch some.

A very interesting evening indeed.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**Second dinner – Baker Street**

As was laid out in the Rules of Etiquette, the Watson's were invited to a reciprocal dinner. I had of course seen Watson in between engagements; he had accompanied me on a trifling matter in the West End involving some poisoned greasepaint and a bitter rivalry between theatres. His love of Shakespeare had been invaluable to the case, as it was only because of his declaiming the Bard unexpectedly at a crucial moment that allowed me to prevent a nasty tragedy.

I was not wearing my Formals, though they were laid upon my bed in case Watson's Wife had been disingenuous with her earlier comments. I am the master of the quick change, as my friend could testify, so it would take me less than three minutes to swap my brown suit for my blacks. In fact, I had not even bothered to put on my shoes, waistcoat or jacket, just in case such a change was required.

Watson's Wife apparently decided that they should emulate me by walking from home, a small detail which should have given me even more time to change if required. Unfortunately I didn't spot them in the encroaching gloom until they were almost upon the house. Watson was not dressed formally, I recognised his suit, so I hurried to finish my own dressing, not wanting to be caught doubting his Wife's sincerity.

As I was pulling my jacket on the cuff got caught, and I pulled it free with a muttered curse, catching the now loose button with poor temper. Mrs Hudson had let the couple in, and then insisted upon returning the good doctors latch key. I made note not to perform any chemical experiments for the rest of the month, so as to thank this unexpected ally in keeping Watson in touch with our agency.

Watson held the door for his Wife: she smiled at me quite pleasantly, reaching out to shake hands. I foolishly forgot to pocket the loose button, thus Watson's Wife had it from my fingers in a moment and my jacket from my shoulders only seconds after that.

"Where do you keep the thread, John?" she asked, as Watson grinned at me, shaking his head and clapping my shoulder.

"Third drawer of my desk dear, there should be a sewing kit in there… or rather I should say third drawer of the desk by the window," he corrected himself with an anxious glance at me.

"Third drawer in Watson's desk," I directed his Wife, "Though I _can_ sew it on myself. It came loose only as you were ascending the stairs."

Best she didn't think I was attempting to place her in an inferior position.

"I know you can sew it on yourself, Sherlock," Watson's Wife said over her shoulder as she hunted for the kit, "But I do not mind."

I felt the hit at once – Watson and I were considered by many to be outdated in our continued practice of referring to each other solely by our last names. Men of such intimate acquaintance usually did not. Her use of my first name put us on a social footing that I had not been prepared for, certainly not at this early stage of the game. It wouldn't do to show my unease though, especially as I was well aware that it was Watson that would be hurt if I allowed this volley to be redirected.

"Thank you Mary," I replied, concealing my concern at this second and unexpected loss in the war: on my own turf too!

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	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**First blood – Holmes**

"Those strong men were deucedly fast," I slurred into Watson's good shoulder, as he supported my weight down from the cab. Marriage suited him, his Wife took excellent care of his wardrobe and there was slightly more bulk to the shoulder that supported my wavering footsteps, "Good thing you can aim as well with a cricket ball as you can with your service revolver."

"Yes, it is," he replied tersely. I was not too concerned by that particular tone, Watson always got terse with me when I was injured and he had yet to treat me 'properly'. That usually meant getting to Baker Street and his medical bag. This morning I realised as he hauled me up the steps it meant returning to 'The Limes'.

Watson's Wife opened the door as my friend juggled me and the door key, and I braced myself for the torrent of exclamations and fuss that was sure to follow. We had been out all night of course; it was early morning now. I had not allowed Watson to take me from the scene of the arrests until I was sure that our evidence was securely in hand with the Yard – I found that Inspector Bradstreet was competent enough, though he was no Lestrade.

"Mary, I need my bag and a bowl of water. Towels and linen," Watson's terse tone softened slightly for his wife, but her appearance didn't prevent him from focussing on the matter at hand. To my surprise, or maybe in my concussed state I missed it, she simply nodded and disappeared instead of deploring the state of his coat, his shoes and his companion.

Watson settled me in a chair and I gave him my firmest glare, which was less effective than usual as I was attempting to glare at all three of him.

"I don't need this fuss," I said firmly, to which he snorted in reply. I blinked laboriously…

… And opened my eyes again to the distinctive sound of knitting needles. As Mrs Hudson was not in the habit of knitting by my side as I slept on a settee, I deduced that Watson's Wife was the source of the noise. It was definitely Watson's ceiling I was looking at, a cautious glance around showed that I was in his front room. The landscape I had gifted him with for his wedding was now hung above the mantle, and the ugly curtains that had hung upon my first dinner in this house had been replaced with material that was a superior colour and weight. His Wife was attempting to make his home a pleasant one at least; though it would never compete with the comfortable clutter of our sitting room, it was at least a place where my Watson could take his ease.

"Here Sherlock," Watson's Wife said gently and before I knew what she was about, her slender arm had raised my head and I was sipping at a glass of cool water. Given that a circus strongman had attempted to throttle me earlier, I was very much in need of the cool liquid and therefore too appreciative to make a fuss.

"John has had to go to his surgery, though he'll be back in an hour," she informed me as I lay back, "You've slept for most of the day."

"That would be the minor concussion," I cleared my throat. There was a blanket covering me, the wrist that I had sprained firmly wrapped and resting on top of it. There was also a bandage around my head covering the shallow gash above my ear, caused by the knife thrower and Watson's timely shove.

"I've some soup on the stove, and the bread is fresh. John said you could eat something when you woke, I'm sure it would ease his mind if you did," that was blatant manipulation right there, but she was correct. My Watson didn't need to worry any more about me than he already was.

"Thank you, that would be suitable," I agreed, pushing myself up to a sitting position as Watson's Wife went to fetch the meal.

"He was very worried about leaving you here," she confided when I had consumed the tasty vegetable soup while she resumed her knitting, "But he really can't afford to close the new practice for a day just yet, and I promised not to plague you with questions."

Watson's new practice was in Kensington, a much better area than his old place. It had been run down by its elderly practitioner, though I was confident that Watson would soon have it in better shape. I was sorry he had worried, though, and said as much to his Wife.

"I suspect that he'd have worried just as much if he'd stayed here, Sherlock," she smiled, making me wonder how firm this new found accord was, "You were a bit of a mess this morning. You look much better now, I'm pleased to say."

"He'll be tired, though," I replied, testing the lay of the land. She sighed and shook her head.

"He usually is," Watson's Wife replied, "He's too good a doctor to skimp his patients, and too good a man to skimp on us. Although if it weren't for the cases you brought him along to…"

Watson's key sounded in the latch, and I almost cursed. I was sure that she had been about to openly declare war, and now…

"… He'd have run mad from boredom," Watson's Wife stood, "He's a man of action, after all. So despite his worries… thank you Sherlock."

I blinked and leaned back on the settee as she went to greet our Watson at the door. The concussion must have been stronger than I thought. Surely she hadn't acknowledged the importance of our work?

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	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**Birthday – his Wife**

It took me longer than I would have liked to think of a suitable gift to commemorate the day. I was of course well aware of the date Her birthday, as Watson had been fretting for some time over the choice between a nice watch or a new dress. As neither of us was closely connected to the world of women's fashion, therefore exponentially expanding the possibility of a critical error, I urged him to purchase the watch and have done with it.

For myself I was struck on the horns of a dilemma. She was Watson's Wife, and I was no blood relative, which curtailed certain gift choices. However She had one more than one occasion intimated that she saw us as connected very intimately, going so far as to forge an ersatz blood connection between myself and Watson. If I chose a gift more suited to an intimate acquaintance I was confirming her appearance of a close connection. If I stuck to the etiquette it could be seen as a weakness, a loss in this continuing battle of ours.

In the end I was forced to compromise to some degree, combining intimacy with etiquette, requiring careful consultation with a merchant of my acquaintance. The next hurdle was when to present said gift. I could of course appear early in the morning, but the risk inherent there was that I would interrupt a more intimate celebration than I would like. I could see her in the evening, though I would have to decide if it was better to do so before or after Watson took her out – he had planned dinner and the theatre in honour of her day of birth. I could also appear at luncheon and present said gift, however Watson would not be present for such a meeting and I wished to avoid any hint of impropriety.

Eventually I decided to appear in the evening, before they left for their evening out. By not dressing formally I could avoid an invitation to join them, not that I thought his Wife would issue one today of all days. The clothes would send a clear signal that I was not attempting to intrude, which would be a minor victory in and of itself.

I fancy I saw a moment of trepidation cross Her eyes when I appeared in their front room, one which I was quick to exploit. My dearest friend has said that I can be very charming when I wish to be: tonight I was as charming as I knew how. I had of course already seen my Watson's gift to her, but admired it once again. For a man working to a close budget he had a good eye for that which was elegant yet durable.

My own gift was received effusively, accepted with a kiss to my cheek that almost had me squirming. My dear friend was looking amused at my expression and I shot him a quick look, enjoining him to behave himself. I had no wish to start their evening with an argument, but I would if he didn't take that smirk off his face.

"Goodness!" Watson's Wife exclaimed, "Oh Sherlock, how thoughtful!"

"What is it, dear?" Watson asked curiously, his face something of a study when his Wife lifted my gift from the small lacquered box I had presented it in. I detested wrapping things: not even for Watson did I attempt the task.

"Look John, it's a police whistle. Sherlock's had it engraved and mounted on a chain for me," Mary beamed, "This is lovely!"

The whistle was silver of course, and had been engraved with delicate vines and flowers, making it suitable for a lady to wear. The chain was designed to clip to her dress, allowing the whistle to be concealed in a fold or beneath an apron as appropriate.

"It's certainly unique," my Watson smiled at his Wife. She clipped the whistle into place at once. I was pleased to see that it was as unobtrusive as the merchant had said it would be.

"I'll leave you to get on with your evening," I offered a little bow to them both, "Happy birthday Mary."

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	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**First blood – Watson**

I opened the front door as the cab pulled up and hurried forward to hand Watson's Wife down to the street, tossing the fare up to the cabby before leading her inside. She was white in the face and her hand trembled in mine; I wasn't too sure I hadn't looked just as she did when this latest disaster first occurred. The one thing we would always be united in was our Watson's health.

"He's not badly hurt," I said as I took her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door, "The knife was aimed at me and he deflected the blow."

"You said he'd been stabbed in the leg?" she asked; I braced myself for a tirade, denouncing our friendship and demanding that it be broken off, "Was it… the same leg he injured in the war?"

"Yes, fortunately," I sighed, then grimaced at my unconscious choice of words, "Or unfortunately, as the case may be. It missed… that is to say that the wound is a messy one, but not too deep. The doctor I called has just left; I didn't want him trying to stitch his own wound."

The first time Watson had done such a thing it had left me sick to my stomach. An old campaigner, he had seen nothing untoward with a doctor treating himself in such a fashion. It reminded me all too clearly that on an Afghan battlefield, the only doctor he'd had access to had been himself. Some of the scarring on his body, glimpsed through the steam at the Turkish Baths, made a terrible sense to me now.

"Are you two going to stand about at the bottom of the stairs all evening?" Watson called from above us, a touch of asperity in his voice. His Wife jumped, then shook her head, hurrying before me up the stairs.

"You'd better not be walking on that injury Watson!" I called past her, and she tsked under her breath.

"Of _course_ he is," she tossed over her shoulder, "Doctors orders are for people who aren't doctors."

"I heard that," Watson grinned lightly at his Wife, holding out a hand, the other being occupied with steadying himself against the doorjamb, "Hello, dearest. I'm sorry to have worried you."

"Not as sorry as you'll be if you don't sit down John," she replied firmly and stepped to one side, "Sherlock…"

"Of course," I smirked and promptly herded Watson back to the couch, lifting him almost entirely off his feet. Despite the best efforts of Mrs Hudson and his Wife, my friend was still not the full weight he'd been before taking the Shilling. I was beginning to doubt he ever would be.

Between the two of us we got him settled back onto the couch, a blanket over his legs and a pillow behind his head. His pallor, coupled with the single faint complaint he made against such treatment only served to confirm that we were right to coddle him so.

"I'll send a note to Anstruther," Watson's Wife decided, "He can take your patients for tomorrow, which will give Sherlock and I the time to get you back home."

"I'll get one of the Irregulars to take it for you Mary," I gestured to Watson's old desk, "There's notepaper and ink there."

"Now just a minute you two…" Watson's protests were easily ignored, hence it wasn't long before Two Eyed Tommy was on his way, note firmly in hand.

I was sure that the ceasefire we had called over our concern for our Watson would hold until the man had recovered at least.

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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**An Essential Accessory**

As I circled the garden party with my tray of drinks, I spotted them both off to the side, chatting lightly with another couple. Watson had no talent for acting any role other than his own, but within that role there was a lot of scope. Right now, for instance, he was perfectly playing the part of an indulgent husband, squiring his wife around a Society Do; a garden party thrown by a charity that his wife volunteered for.

We suspected that it was being used as a front for smuggling certain items into and out of the poorer parts of London. We knew the receivers, the couriers and the clients. We had a fair suspicion whom the ringleaders were, but needed to catch them in the act of receiving a commission to truly clinch the case.

It was not hard for Lestrade to be included in the final gambit, as his wife also worked for the charity in question and had received her invitation to the garden party with, according to Lestrade, great joy. I was easily able to infiltrate the serving staffs that were to attend, but it was Watson I had been unsure of, given that he was no great shakes as a waiter or musician. Fortunately, we were able to find a connection for him to attend the party legitimately in the form of his Wife, and as I circled past with my tray neither of them so much as turned a hair.

I had explained very carefully to Watson's Wife that she was to completely ignore my presence, should she spy me, and that she was to follow her husband's instructions to the letter. I did not want to risk her being hurt in the course of my work, knowing full well that Watson would never forgive me if that happened. He would ensure that she stayed out of the way, for her own sake as much for the sake of the case.

Lestrade never turned a hair either as he deposited a soiled napkin and empty glass upon my tray. A glance showed me that the napkin had a message scribbled on it; it was barely a moment's work to decipher the shorthand that the Inspector habitually used. It seemed that our quarry was to meet our mark in the next ten minutes. A slight nod and a glass of ginger beer later and all were set for the denouement of the case.

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	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**First Social Event**

The tickets to the box at the Globe had come with the payment from the client. I had teased Watson in the cab on the way there, wondering who the tickets had been intended for and what excuse their original owner had used to get out of using them.

Once in the box, I was treated to the delightful sight of my elder brother ensconced in the Whitehall box with a dignitary of some sort. He did not look best pleased to see us there, which I of course took sly pleasure in. The question of seating became a doubly important one, as I wanted to share the performance with Watson, and his Wife had quite naturally accompanied us.

She manoeuvred things deftly, I had to admit that: Watson ended up seated between us, which was quite acceptable. As we settled into the seats she thanked me for including her in the evening – there was no point in either of as talking to Watson at the minute for he loved Shakespeare and was always insensible to those around him from first seating to the interval – to which I replied that her skills in throwing a teapot alone had more than earned her seat. Watson's Wife laughed, and Mycroft blanched – no doubt he was reading our lips – then the chimes went and we settled to watch the play.

Sure enough my Watson came back to himself as the interval commenced and we both took the chance to tease him about it. Watson's Wife had teased me from the very first, a sister to her brother, and I was only now beginning to include her in my own teasing. Each time I did so I monitored Watson's reaction, knowing my own faults well enough that I could take things a step too far. Watson was of inestimable help in this, being such an easy read to my trained eyes.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Mary?" I made the effort to be Sociable, and was rewarded with a warm look from my dear friend, even as she nodded rather hesitantly. I stiffened, waiting for the salvo to follow. We were about to commence the carefully contrived series of reasons as to why our social engagements could not be fulfilled, I was sure of it. She had lasted longer than I had expected in the battles, even going so far as to assist in small ways on several matters before our agency, but I was certain that she still intended to cause a breach, now it seemed the first attempt was about to be made.

"There is a man in the box over there who keeps staring at me," she turned her back carefully to the 'starer' as she said it; "I must admit I am somewhat uncomfortable."

"The corpulent gentleman two boxes away?" I asked lightly as Watson scowled and searched for the offender. His shoulders stiffened when he spotted Mycroft as his Wife identified my brother as the cause for offence.

"That's… Mr Mycroft Holmes, dearest," Watson said gently; by the stiffening of her shoulders alone, I saw that his Wife realised the connection at once, "I'm sure he means nothing by it."

"Nevertheless, he can't be permitted to ruin the evening," I saw my chance and took it firmly, "Switch seats with me, Sister, and I'll have a word with him."

I was gone before she could protest, smirking all the way to the Whitehall box, cherishing the look my brother had given me in response to my words. Really, if the man didn't want to hear ill of himself, or be scandalised by other people's relations with each other, he shouldn't read lips. In addition to that, he had given me a very easy victory, something I could savour.

The Whitehall guest turned out to be a member of the Italian diplomatic core, and I knew enough Italian to greet him properly. I then continued, in that language, to address Mycroft, informing him that Mrs Watson was most discomforted by his glances and requesting that he cease them until such a time as they had been properly introduced.

As he never had much time for Watson outside of a case, that particular event was unlikely in the extreme, which suited me well. I returned to the box in good humour, having got one over both my brother and 'sister' in one evening to find that Watson had moved his Wife to my old seat. I was thanked very properly when I sat down, and then Watson attempted a diversion by starting our old game of deductions, using the milling audience below as our subjects. As this was the only way he had learned to manage my restlessness in the interval I behaved myself very nicely for my dear friend, wanting to extend the goodwill I had gained this evening.

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	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**Birthday – Holmes**

I had not been expecting company, so the sight of the gaslight in my sitting room was not particularly welcome as I dashed across the streaming footpath from the cab to my front door. I had been out of town on a case, unaccompanied as Watson's patients had very ungratefully demanded the presence of their doctor in what the medical profession called the 'cold and influenza season'.

The case had of course been resolved, now I was looking forward to my hearth and slippers and tobacco. Any client awaiting my return would receive very short shrift.

Mrs Hudson came out of her sitting room as I banged the front door shut and fussed at me for getting her floors and wallpaper wet. She informed me that she would be serving dinner in an hours time, advised me to change completely out of my wet clothes, wished me 'many happy returns' and retired to her sitting room without giving me time to respond, or more importantly to ask who was waiting for me in my sitting room.

With a weary sigh I trudged up the seventeen steps. As I neared the top a familiar aroma teased my nose, making my spirits lift rather foolishly. I opened the door to the sitting room and could not contain a pleased smile at the sight of my dearest friend, comfortably ensconced in his habitual chair. From the look of him he'd been here for only long enough to smoke a pipe, thirty minutes at the most, and was planning to remain for a good while longer.

"Holmes!" his welcoming smile changed to a concerned look as he took in my appearance, "You're soaked through! Go and change out of those things at once. I asked Mrs Hudson to prepare a dinner for us, but I refuse to dine with someone who appears to be emulating a drowned cat."

"You know, Watson, when a man moves out of a flat, he usually doesn't appear uninvited to order meals and order his former lodger about," I informed him, merely for the form of the thing. To give in at once would rouse his medical instincts and I truly did not want to argue with him over my health, which was fine.

"When have I ever let what was usual stop me from doing what I had to do?" Watson chuckled, "Besides, I'd be a poor friend indeed to neglect you on your birthday. Get changed old chap, then come and tell me how the case went."

The evening was looking up already. Watson had warmed my mouse coloured dressing gown on the arm of my chair, persuaded Mrs Hudson to prepare several of my favourite dishes, and settled into the evening with me as if he didn't have a Wife waiting at home for him. I knew that his Mary sometimes visited her former employer, just as I knew that she was in London at the moment, which meant that he had left her at home alone to spend the evening with me.

I could not bring myself to cut the evening short, so when the clock chimed four, Watson jumped and gave it a startled look.

"Do you mind if I spend the night, old chap?" he asked sleepily, "If I leave early enough this morning I can change before going back to the Surgery."

"I do not mind for myself, but what of Mrs Watson?" I asked lightly, wanting to be sure that he knew I was aware of his dual responsibilities. Tonight had been just like old times, as our conversation ranged from one topic to the other. Watson in a disputatious mood was a wonderful thing, his arguments were often thought provoking and on the rare occasions he was being completely irrational about a matter, he was highly entertaining.

"I told Mary not to wait up. I didn't want to miss your day," my Watson smiled at me, hazel eyes warm as always, "She bade me give you this."

He got up from his chair to retrieve the small bundle under the settee. I had already had his gift, a particularly fine collection of scientific treaties that I had mentioned in passing some months ago. They were not easy to come by, as the print run had been quite small. It appeared that one of his patients had been in a position to assist him in locating the copy that now graced my shelves.

The small bundle had been wrapped with the kind of attention to detail that only a Wife could offer. Inside there were a set of gloves, hand knitted from the finest of wools and suited particularly well to me. I was no expert, but even I knew how much time and skill had gone into the production of the gloves, not to mention the half dozen handkerchiefs and three pairs of socks, all hand made my Watson's Wife for me.

"When you return home, old chap, could I trouble you to give your wife a note on my behalf?" I asked, mildly unsettled at the thought that such largess should come my way. These were intimate gifts, something that I had not been prepared for, even in the light of my own gift on Her last birthday.

"Of course Holmes," Watson beamed his face an open book. He was happy that we were apparently getting along; I did not wish to disabuse him of the fact. I was unsure where this gift left us at this stage of our game, and resolved to think about it later.

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	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**Mutual Concerns**

"The fever has broken," Watson's Wife said as she opened the door to me. Her telegram had missed me at the Channel Ferry, thus I had returned to Baker Street only to be accosted by a worried Mrs Hudson.

The case had taken me to France, and further a field, but Watson had once more remained behind, tied to London by his work and his Wife. It was a victory to her, and one that I doubly resented in the light of this sudden illness on my poor Watson's side.

"How did he become so ill?" I asked, hanging my hat upon the rack, on the hook that was always left bare beside his own hat, above the hook that was reserved for my coat, "When I left, he was busy with a mild rush of influenza cases, yours included."

And there was the rub. Watson was too good a doctor to be fooled by the prevarications of a patient, therefore his Wife had genuinely been ill. Indeed, she still looked a little paler than was her wont and I put a hand to her elbow, merely to prevent her from tumbling down in my presence, which would worry my dear friend considerably.

"The mild rash turned into something of an epidemic, as a result of which he volunteered to work in one of the charity hospitals. They were overrun, and… he worked all hours with them, and the practice, and of course he was running down leads for you as well…"

I stiffened, hearing accusation in her voice, knowing that I had unwittingly set myself up for a defeat in our unspoken war. I had no way of knowing that my dear friend had stretched himself so thin, or that he was falling ill. The three leads I had requested he run down had been a matter of researching paper files, something that I trusted no one else to do.

"Had I known," I marshalled my defence as I deposited her in her accustomed place on the couch but she held her hand up, waving my comment off.

"I begged him to tell you, Sherlock, but he dismissed my concerns. You know what he's like – so unselfish of his efforts for others," Watson's Wife said earnestly, "Indeed, the last lead I chased down myself, as he was already failing at the time. He ordered me not to tell you he was falling ill, but when he collapsed at the surgery… I had to warn you."

Grace in victory, and no less than I expected of my opponent at this stage of the game. I nodded in acknowledgement, and glanced restlessly at the doorway.

"You said the fever had broken? Which physician is the attending?" I wanted details at the very least. I was unsure how hard she would fight to keep us separated in the aftermath of Watson's illness; therefore a little judicious probing was in order.

"Dr Anstruther was called by the maid when John collapsed yesterday morning," Watson's Wife sighed, "And he's been attending since. The crisis was upon us almost before we knew it, and he's sleeping now. He's very restless though… I think he's worried about the case."

"Then perhaps I should see him," I offered the suggestion experimentally, impatient with the more intricate details of our game, wanting only to see my dear friend with my own eyes and assure myself that he was indeed on the mend, "I can assure him that things went well."

"That would ease him," Watson's Wife agreed, "Come up then."

I took her elbow on the stairs again, and she allowed some of her slight weight to rest upon me, to my surprise. Watson's eyes opened when the door did, and they lit up at the sight of us both, though he frowned in worry when he saw his Wife leaning upon my strength.

"Sit down, Mary," I ushered her to the chair beside the bed solicitously, "It won't do to have him deciding to doctor you from his own sickbed."

Watson gave me a weak scowl, which I had expected the small tease would gather, and I sat beside his feet, resting a hand on his blanket covered ankle.

"You've given us a fright, old chap," I scolded, "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, Holmes," my Watson waved it off impatiently, though his voice was hoarse and not as strong as I liked to hear it, "The case?"

"Completed satisfactorily," I said at once, not wanting to stir him out of his hard won peace, "All safe, old chap. Now I want you to rest, as Mary is in no fit state to be worrying about you herself. Besides, the more you rest, the quicker you'll be fit."

"Yes, doctor," the sarcasm was a welcome sign that his illness hadn't been too severe, despite the unexpected onset, and the smile on his Wife's face allowed me to hope that I had at least recouped some of the ground I had lost in this unexpected disaster.

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	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

**Observations of a Wife**

**Final Engagement**

It was ironic, in a way that in the end Watson's Wife won. Not because of her superior skill on the battlefield, but simply because an enemy greater than her demanded that I make the supreme effort. I could not, of course, address her in my final note to my dearest friend, but I had always had an inkling that something along these lines may occur, and had set plans in place accordingly.

Watson would return to London and his Wife, and we would be forever parted, not through her efforts, but through those of the criminal mastermind we had worked so hard to bring to heel. Sending him to safety had been harder than I thought, as I had very selfishly at the final moment not wanted to part from him at all. It was inevitable that we did, and I could only trust that she would take proper care of him in my stead, until we were once more reunited.

In the course of their Marriage, Watson's Wife had become a small part of our agency. There were times when a woman's presence was needed to further our cause, and she had proven to be an adept helpmeet. In addition, I could not fault her care of my Watson – whatever else may be said for the institution of marriage, it could not be denied that her presence was beneficial to Watson's health and nerves. Where I could not persuade him to rest, to allow another man to take on his burdens for a short time, she could, and between us we managed him beautifully.

There was a letter waiting to be sent in London, one that acknowledged her contributions to our agency, along with an earnest request that she ease Watson's grief as best she could. If he had to marry, and leave my side, then at least he had married someone worthy of him and his attentions.

I pinned my final note to him beneath my cigarette case and straightened with a silent sigh. It would be a hard test of my slim store of patience, but I could wait until my Watson could rejoin me once more…

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END

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GAH _ I just finished uploading this and realised I'd misspelled Mary's surname in the summary/heading thing... *headdesk* Sorry!!!!!!!

Final Note – Gee I hope I got the tone of Holmes correct in this one! Let me know what you think? Constructive criticism welcome, as always.

The title is related to Holmes observing Watson's wife… just in case I was being too obscure (or you're reading this late at night and not up to following my convoluted flights of fancy)

And there is a sequel in the works – 'Observations of a Boswell' which will run in a similar vein to this and commence during 'The Empty House'… check my author's page for updates.


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